


Rising Star

by SmutWithPlot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 11:18:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: If this was a first date... It wasn't going well. And Jesse wasn't entirely sure if it was a date, exactly. Hanzo Shimada was a man of few words, and it was hard to read his intentions. But McCree wanted to learn. //My first dabbling in Overwatch, and one of my rarer m/m pairings. I like to think they're a lot like #WolfStar was back in the day.





	Rising Star

_Come on, Jesse. You got this._

My heart was pounding. Not life and death pounding, but definitely the thrill of the chase. I had myself pressed against a wall, and tried to do that thing they kept trying to show me, where you breathe through your nose and out your mouth... I always felt a bit foolish for it. I spun the barrel of my revolver, knocking out a spare bullet or two, and sliding in a quick load. I snapped it back as I pocketed the spares, and took another breath.

I spun out into the alleyway, sharp eyes checking for shadows and shapes in the usual spots. I spun around to the other side, spurs clicking at my heel.

"Summa bitch gon' get me..." I muttered to myself. I hurled myself across the way, clinging to a wall, and slipped into a doorway. It was mildly cooler in here, and I tapped my way across the room, finding a window, and chuckling to myself as climbed back out. I checked the alley, but no one was there. I tried to follow the wall, hiding under the tiny patch of roof that shaded me, and looked up, checking for an ambush. A little ways along, I found myself a ladder. I slipped my pistol back in its holster and climbed up.

Terra cotta bricks clacked under my boots. The wind whistled about me, and a hand reached up to tuck my hat lower, serape flapping about me. I pulled out my gun again, and crept to the edge of the roof.

"Alright, mother fucker. Where you at?" I took a stance, eyes tracing every walkway, every rooftop. Doorways, windows, barrels and cartons...

I heard a very soft sound. Something like a polite throat being cleared.

I spun about, hammer clicking, and came face to face to Hanzo Shimada standing over me, bow already drawn and pointed at my chest.

"Now, hold on." I held my hands (and gun) up in defense.

"You are already dead." There was a gentle chuckle. I tilted my hat up proper to watch him disengage the weapon, and slide the arrow back into his quiver. "I think perhaps you need to be more quiet. Those things on your boots make quite a racket."

I shifted, spurs spinning and clacking on the tile. "Ah, but they're so stylish." I grinned, and the archer shook his head, lowering a hand. I took it, and got to my feet. "So. Drinks on me, right?"

"I think you said dinner."

"Either way. Date's a date."

Hanzo sighed. "I do not understand your obsession with alcohol. It is good, but..."

"Come on, now. Best things God ever made were booze, sex and baked goods." I made my way down the ladder. "Get me someone who can make whisky and brownies, I'll retire."

Hanzo was already down there by the time my boots hit the dirt, and he shook his head at me. "Sophisticated man."

Around us, the simulation ended. I pulled out my pistols and spun them in my fingers, the orange plastic tips and tiny lasers at the end dancing dots on the walls. "Fun while it lasted." I gave my devices to the proctor, and Hanzo handed over his quiver of round-ended duds. Spurs sang as I waltzed out of the room, Hanzo silent as a ghost beside me.

"So what'll it be? Mexican food? Sushi?"

"So many choices."

"Ah, come on. Seriously. Or we order pizza or something." I signed out on the training sheet, and handed the pen to Hanzo.

Hanzo scrawled his name carefully underneath. "I flow like water. I am not the host."

"How about Chinese? It's not the same thing as you get in actually China, but... It's its own kind of special."

"Why not."

"Excellent.

I ordered us a ride. I liked to treat folks on occassion. Even it was just a work buddy for dinner and drinks after a bit of training, but something in me just respected the hell out of somebody who could keep kicking my ass in training at a solid 5-0. 8-2 if you counted group training, but I hadn't been counting for that long. I tried my damnedest, but Hanzo was just a sneaky fucking ninja, and bested me every time. And then I heard from a certain little birdie that Hanzo outdrank Lucio on a post in Paris, which I knew from experience was no easy task, and had since been slowly trying to worm the bastard over for a drinking frenzy. There was something real special about someone who could outdrink you. And better in combat? Iron sharpens iron, as the saying goes. I relished the challenge. And the more I hung out with him, the more I wanted to.

"I think I know a good place, but I'm a bit out of their jurisdiction... I might have to call and sweet talk 'em, or hire someone else to do it..." I chuckled. "Man, I forgot what having money felt like."

Hanzo smiled softly. "It is certainly a different way of living."

...And besides, Hanzo had a really nice smile. The kind of shy smile that some bold wife would treasure and keep one day. Hell, he probably had one already, somewhere in Japan. Making him bentos and chocolates for White Day... "--But what about the drinking? Maybe we can hit a place on the way. What's your poison?"

"You are determined?"

"Absolutely. Bet's a bet." I even poked out a finger to tap the other man's arm, who looked down confused.

"Well. In that case. Sake."

I scoffed. "Sake. Always sake with you. Might as well be wine and beer. What else?"

He chuckled. "Oh... Whatever."

I laughed. "You been in America too long, mate."

He was a man of mystery. It was intriguing. I knew there was a lot to learn, and I wanted to learn it.

xxx

The girl on the other end of the phone answered bored like usual, but when I answered back in Cantonese, she brightened. Even threw some extra cookies, and hesitated only a moment over the address, but the food was already cooking by then. Hanzo listened patiently in the living room, his sandals removed by the front door. Not wanting to be weird, I had taken my own boots off at the door and left them in a haphazard pile next to Hanzo's neat shoes. It felt a little funny walking around in socks - usually it was boots or nothing - but it felt fun, too. I could slip around in the kitchen as I made our drinks - dropping a bit of 151 into Hanzo's rum and coke while I kept the lower proof Captain Morgan for myself.

"Puerto Rican rum! You know, wars were fought and won over this stuff."

As I came around the couch, Hanzo was sitting at the edge, politely watching the fire. "I am familiar with this spirit. But I thank you for trying to educate me."

There was that smile again. I smirked, making sure I gave the archer the right glass as I sipped my own. I smacked my lips, enjoying the burn - a solid 50/50. Chilled cola, none of that rocks nonsense. I watched Hanzo sip as I relaxed into the opposite corner of the couch. Leg propped up on a knee. This felt so much like a first date, and I wasn't even sure if my sake-loving friend even swung that way.

"I take it you've had Chinese before as well?"

"Yes," Hanzo answered, a sly mischief in his eyes. "Both real Chinese and the American variations." He sipped. "Your Catonese is quite good."

I gave a devilish grin. "Yeah, but all of my vocabulary words come from a take out menu."

We shared the laugh, and I felt something in my chest relax. Especially when I saw the archer sip more, and then finish his drink.

I raised an eyebrow. "Thirsty?"

"Mm. It is very smooth." He held it towards me. "Hurry. Your guest needs refreshment."

I laughed, and set my own glass down, taking the empty one. I went to the kitchen and poured him another... same way. I did the pretense of sticking the bottles under my arms as I returned with the drink, presenting it to him. Hanzo accepted it, bowing lightly, and I did the same, grinning.

If this was a first date, it was going well.

When the food arrived, I was a happy buzzed. Hanzo seemed looser too, and even relaxed into the couch. Food was got, and brought out to the living room. Hanzo showed me how the little cartons could be opened up for plates, and I cursed.

"Sumbitch. I swear, I been eatin' out of them things for years, and I didn't know that."

"The Chinese are nothing if not enterprising. They have so much to do with so little. Population crises, and all."

"I'll say!"

Over dinner, we talked of travel. First of Beijing and China, then Korea and Japan. Moscow and Prague. Paris and London. We spoke of food and quirks and interesting turns of phrase, and of our favourite places to visit.

I told him about my favourite little bar in Mexico, right on the Gulf, far enough away from the tourist traps and college kids to actually get a quiet beach and decently priced drinks. Hanzo told me about a little tea shop in Liverpool, run by a Japanese emigrant woman who did the proper tea ceremony and kimonos, while British chaps ordered their Earl Grey and biscuits alongside. He especially loved the rain. He painted it with such quiet poetry, I had half a mind to write it all down in calligraphy and frame it somewhere.

When we'd finished with food, I cleared everything away. Hanzo stood and offered to help, but naturally, everything was just going to get tossed if it wasn't put into the fridge for later consumption. When we came back to the couch, we sat a little bit closer to each other, and there was another bottle of rum. Even with food, the 151 was catching up to Hanzo, and he leaned on a hand to stay talking. We began to talk shop, about tactics and weapon limitations (Hanzo repeated that those spurs really were much too noisy, but that he envied my reach and accuracy), and somewhere after his fourth or fifth drink (I was getting too drunk to care to count anymore) Hanzo started... to turn melancholy.

"Hey... What is it? You can tell me, man." I polished off my glass, and made to make us both a new one, but Hanzo reached out a hand.

"No... Not for me. I..." He looked away, rubbing his fingers into his eyes. "I think I am done."

I frowned, leaning back into the couch and... hesitantly, put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, man. What is it?"

"It is just..." He took a shuddering breath. "All of this. The fighting. The killing." He shook his head. "It is what I was raised for. You know? Trained for. All my life..." He looked down at his hands, and so did I. "These hands... They are the hands of a killer. I've killed... So many."

My hand squeezed his shoulder, my heart strings twisting. "Hey, man. We've all done shit we ain't proud of. It's why I got out of Blackwatch." I shook him gently. "You can't let it eat you up."

Hanzo looked to me, as tears gathered in his eyes. "I killed my own brother." His voice was choked. "All my life... I did what I was supposed to. Ruled by honour. And duty..." He looked into the fire, his eyes haunted, a hand to his mouth. "And for what? I am not happy. I have skills, but only to kill. I gave everything for my family, only to lose it. And my home. Everything I fought for..."

I couldn't bear to see a grown man cry. "Come on, man... Yer killin' me here." My own throat clumped up, and I poured a drink anyway - for myself. I made it strong, and shook my head as I took it, and my head got dizzy... "I mean... We all done shit things. Hell knows I have." I looked to Hanzo, trying to figure out what to say... "Don't mean you ain't someone worth fightin' for. You're the fucking best at what you do, and that's why Overwatch needs you. You might not have a home in Japan, but... Hell. You got a home here. Anytime you need it. I'll take care of ya. You can have a home right here."

...I was really drunk, sure. But I did mean it.

Hanzo let out a quivering breath. And then he gave a watery smile. "Arigatou. Gozaimasu..."

And then he did something I wasn't quite prepared for. Two strong hands reached for me, fingers laced around my neck and thumbs at my ears, and then wet, salty, rum-kissed lips were on mine.

...It took me a moment to recover, being in my cups myself, but I tried to return the favour before the moment was gone.

With a quiet sob, Hanzo dived into my chest, arms slipping around me. Baffled and surprised, I wrapped my arms over... slick silk. It felt luxurious under my hand, warm and decadent, and I buried my nose in the man's neck. He had the spice of man, and the cloying of some kind of cologne, and it was intoxicating. More so even then his pathetic snivelling in my shoulder.

"Come on, ya big lug..." I massaged a hand over his back, just as Hanzo went limp in my arms. I grunted at the suddenly heavy dead weight, and rearranged us so that Hanzo would lean back over the couch with me leaned over him.

And there was a soft snoring.

"Ah hell..." I sighed, running a hand through my hair, and looking at the mess of cups and bottles before me. And then I looked to Hanzo. I licked my lips, trying to relish the taste of him there... And frowned. Wondering if that was a mutual display of affection, or the liquor talkin'.

" _Hell_ ," I said again. I stood, and swayed on my feet, arms going wide to keep my balance. It took a moment. But I carefully topped the bottles and screwed them shut before taking them to the kitchen. After the table was cleared, I found a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water and left it on the table for him. I found a pillow, and tucked it under the passed out Jap, and muttered to myself about dumb ideas and shit luck. A blanket as well, draped lovingly over him, and if I selfishly noted the feel of my sleeping friend's posterior, you could leave that to drunkenness. I stumbled to my own room, habitually going to kick off my boots before remembering that they weren't there. I grunted at myself, and disrobed.

And if I dropped myself into bed and curled into the blankets without closing the bedroom door, maybe it was just wishful thinking.

xxx

As often happens, I woke with a hangover. Which is why there's a bottle of tequila on the bedside table with a ready shot glass for just such a purpose. With a purr of contentedness, I rolled over on his back, metal arm tucked underneath my head, real one lazily toying with my chest hair.

What was I doing today? What was I doing yesterday?

Today was a day off, which is why yesterday I'd been training with Hanzo and made plans for drinking--

I sat up with a start, and cursed at the twang on my head.

"Fuck..."

 _Hanzo_. That poor bastard. Cracked to tears. Never a good first date, date or not. And that kiss... I growled softly. The kiss was nice. Unfortunate circumstances, but nice nonetheless... The way his hands had felt on my neck, also... I sighed, debating taking care of my morning problem with this new fetish fuel, but paranoia peeked an eye at my door.

Which is good, because it was _still open._

" _Fuck_ ," I cursed again. I snarled, crawled to the edge of the bed, and shut the door. The loud noise upset my head again, and I made a petulant noise.

"...Fuck me sideways." I reached for the tequila, and took another shot, hissing as it went down. Morning problem would have to subside on its own. I was a little more careful about getting up, and rifled about for some jeans, finding some whitewashed denim and slipping it on. I grabbed a red flannel shirt and tossed it on, just in case someone came by and I had to be decent on short notice, but I let it fly behind me as I moved.

Door open, try not to be so damned loud this time. I tiptoed down the hall, and saw Hanzo, sitting on the couch and clutching his own head, downing the water.

"Sorry," I said gently. "Hair of the dog?"

"Dog?" Hanzo asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

I chuckled. "Hold on."

Hangovers, I was used to. I was gentle with the cabinetry as I fetched a shooter and gave it some rum. I offered it, but Hanzo just kind of... stared at me for a long moment. Not really at my face, but I wasn't going to flatter myself to say it was my stomach. Reluctantly, Hanzo took the glass, and gave it a sniff. He recoiled, but tossed it back anyway.

"There you go." I clapped him on the shoulder. "That'll help."

I added in a last squeeze. I couldn't help it. It was a nice feeling.

I padded into the kitchen and started pulling out the usuals. A hearty, carb-heavy breakfast was usually the best to cure a hangover. Home fries, eggs, sausage, toast, bacon. I didn't necessarily have all of that, but most of it. I set to dicing up potatoes, big mouthful chunks that would fry up nice. Throw some cheese on top and whip up some eggs... I heard Hanzo moving, partly from the shuffling of his socks on the floor, and partly from the groaning. A part of me was on edge, silently wishing he would join him in the kitchen and carry on from last night, but...

Instead, Hanzo sat at the breakfast nook. A perfectly reasonable thing for a work friend to do. So... Not a date. I bit his lip, trying not to be disappointed by it.

"Mm... You are cooking?" Hanzo blinked at him, bleary.

I chuckled. "Yeah. I cook." I waved my hands, one still holding a blade. "Surpriiise."

"Mm. You are better hung over than I am."

I paused for a moment when _You are better hung than I am,_  rang through my ears for no reason, but I shook it away. "I'm... usually hung over. I've learned to deal with it."

"Like... The dog hair," Hanzo noted.

... _That is so adorable_. "Exactly. I keep a bottle of tequila on my bedside. Half a shot will fix most nights. Last night was a two-fer, though." I looked at Hanzo sideways, barely awake with a fist squishing up his face. _God, I could kiss him_. I chuckled. "Do you need another shot?"

"Nooo..." Hanzo waved. "Please, no. I need no more. Is too much."

He then planted his face into the counter, and it was everything I could do to keep my focus on the onions I was dicing up and not go hug him.

"Well. Breakfast will help. Taters and bacon and eggs. Lots of cheese, too. Hell, we could skip the eggs, heheh."

I looked over at Hanzo, and the archer was clawing at his messy hair with his fingers. I bit my lip, wanting to help, but didn't.

"...I could see if I have tea."

Hanzo's head went up, eyes red and bleary. "You have tea?"

"I can look."

 _Oh god, his earnestness. He is so..._  I let out the softest sound of complaint from my nose as I poked through his cabinets. I did find tea. "Chamomile and... oolong?"

"Mm... I cannot do oolong. Not in the morning."

"Oh, wait... And some peppermint. Supposed to be good for your stomach." I pulled out a still unopened box. There was also a thing of Earl Grey with two bags left from a certain lady friend I'd had not too long ago - which is why I'd known there was tea in there to begin with.

"Oh, yes! Yes, peppermint." He began to bob his head in gratitude, and then clutched it. "Oh... my head."

I laughed. _This man is gonna kill me_. I was careful as I looked in the pots for a kettle and filled it with some water from the tap, and set it on a back burner. I gave the potatoes another toss and set up a coffee pot up for myself. By the time breakfast was ready, Hanzo was humming contentedly over his teacup, a sound that gave me the shivers. I offered a cup of coffee, but the archer declined. Although normally I'd eat in the kitchen as I was standing... I served myself alongside Hanzo, and nested close to him, bare feet clutching the rungs of the bar stool.

Hanzo obediently shoved a fork full in his mouth... and sighed.

"This is very good." And then another.

"Glad you like it." I beamed. So much my cheeks hurt. And yet, I felt like a fucking fool because of it.

As we ate, I tried to make small talk, but the usually taciturn fellow gave even less than his usual, particularly when compared to his openness when the drinks had flowed. I made a note that maybe this whole thing had been a really bad idea, and that I'd inadvertently been giving myself false hope, and now I was saddled with a crush that would go nowhere. It didn't keep me from giving him sideways glances. Admiring the line of his throat, wanting to taste it, wanting to touch the softness of his skin at the back of his neck, to pull on that rat tail of hair that was usually so coiffed and maintained, to wonder if he made sounds in bed like he did over his tea... Loving the way his shirt opened up, loose around his shoulders and hanging open on his breast. It made me anxious and self-conscious about my own shirt, and I buttoned a few at the bottom to look less desperate.

Hanzo said nothing, and I agonized in silence.

xxx

"What the hell's wrong with you?! Get back on the point!"

Snarling in fury, I launched myself through the streets, spurs jangling on every boot strike like fucking Christmas bells. I hated that every step made me think of him, of that little smirk when he said how fucking noisy they were, and god damn it, it was distracting!

_Hanzo doesn't give a shit about you! You're just some drunkard cowboy with more libido than sense, GET ON THE POINT!!!_

I skid into a turn, guns a-blazing, desperate to get back the lead that had been taken from our party.

" _GET ON POINT, MCCREE!_ "

"I'M-A COMIN'!"

I raced forwards, head whipping back and forth to see, and yet, I couldn't see a fucking thing.

"Come on..."

I moved into the next alley way, and there, above me, a glint of light, and a shadow.

Eyes wide with horror, jaw agape, I looked up at Hanzo Shimada.

The man cursed in Japanese, and stalked away. I clutched my hat and desperately looked back and forth - on the one hand, my party was getting swarmed, and on the other, a chuckling Widowmaker, guns pointed at me.

"I got you, McCree... You're dead."

I snarled, growling. Alarms went off, announcing the last kill of the round, and the whole simulation shut down.

"Fuck!" I threw my hat to the ground, running a hand through my hair.

"What the hell is your problem, boy?!"

Codename: Soldier 76 swarmed around the corner and shoved me up against the wall. "That's the third round you've cost me, son! Where the hell is your head at?"

My chest heaved, raging, and wanting to say, but not... My eyes swept the crowd, some of them frustrated (team mates) and some amused (winners). There were even one or two who were concerned. But no Shimada.

"I asked you a goddamned question!" His face was red, a vein popping out of his temple. "If this were more than a practise mission, you'd be DEAD, boy! And your team with it! What do you have to say for yourself?!"

I felt like a cornered rat... I shrugged uselessly, eyes begging forgiveness.

"Get the hell off my combat zone, and get your shit together!" He turned his back on me." The rest of you! LOAD UP! Reset! I want this party running double time! Alpha Team, you're on point! Let's move, people!"

Burning red with embarassment and frustration, I snatched at my hat, and spit in the ground. I tugged it on tight and stomped out of the practise zone. As I moved, I saw a flicker of shadow out of the corner of my eye, and caught Hanzo making his way over the roofs.

 _He's avoiding me_. And to be fair, I was avoiding him, too.

xxx

Normally, I greeted women with a "Hiya, Darlin'" that did well. But lately, I just hadn't been feeling it. So when the girl at Lockup greeted me with a smile and got a muttered, "Mornin'," I felt a little guilty for the way her smile faded.

"Got you in at Room 3. Looks like a chew out."

"Yeah, don't I know it," I growled. I shrugged. "I been off my game last couple weeks."

"Hope you feel better."

I gave her a weak smile. "'Preciate ya."

I moved to Room 3, each jangle of spurs on the floor a betrayal. I hated them now. I walked into Room 3, and pulled off my hat, scratching the back of my neck, bracing myself as I stood at the door.

"Come on, Jesse. You got this."

And I opened the door and stepped inside.

...I realized that, when I'd walked in and done that nonsense with the hat, I'd missed a very valuable opportunity to survey the interrogation room while I was still in the observation half of it. Before I stepped into the interrogation room proper. If I had, I would have seen Hanzo sitting in the 'interrogated' chair, facing the two-way mirror, and maybe if I had, I wouldn't have walked in there.

But I didn't, because I'm a fucking idiot, and 'off my game' was a massive understatement, and as my heart dropped, I swallowed hard and kept my hat to my chest. I let the door swing shut behind me like a death knell as I took the opposite chair.

"So, ah... You gettin' chewed out, too?"

Hanzo's face was cold. "So to speak." His eyes flit to the camera in one corner. "I'm told we are to 'scrap it out'. Settle whatever score or grudge it is that is between us, and compromising our work. You especially have been performing very poorly lately."

"Hey, I perform _just fine_." There was no reason to take such offense, because he's right - I _had_  been performing 'very poory' lately. But I hated to admit causality. "I'm just... having an off week is all."

Hanzo scoffed. "So predictable."

"Yeah, well, fuck you!" I put my hat back on and crossed my arms, glaring at a wall. "I don't need this shit."

How the hell could he sit here and act so god damned calm all the time? It wasn't natural.

I heard a long inhale and exhale... It made me shudder to be so close to someone else and in such a quiet space, as to hear them breathe... Especially _him_. It was like gas on the fire. I squeezed my eyes shut and lowered my head. I could feel him in my bones, a tremor at the back of my neck, a tightness in my joints that made parts of me throb and ache and want, and anytime I was near him, my skin would contract in unpleasant ways. The tension was so thick... I felt just like that damned bow of his, drawn taut by sure hands, so close, so dangerous, so...

So not attainable. I couldn't barely breathe. I had a million things to say, but when the time came, my strength and courage deserted me, and I had only desperation and terror. I wanted his hands on me, and it wasn't going to happen. If I told him, he would only laugh at me. If I didn't, I would kick myself for being a coward. I shook like I was going sober, like he was an addiction and I was going on two weeks without a hit, and it was ruining me. It was cruel, and I was tormenting myself, but I had no place to ask it of him, no matter what I wanted. It wasn't about me. I'd ruined enough relationships that way to do it again.

"I'm sorry--"

"I am sorry--"

I looked up in surprise, and found Hanzo's eyes just as wide.

"I- I mean..." I gestured to him, not sure what else to say. "Erm. Go ahead." I scratched the back of my neck.

Hanzo looked down, and if there was a trace of blush across his face... "I am sorry. For the wrong I have done you."

I blinked at him. And let out a choked laugh. " _You're_  sorry?" I blinked away the start of tears, confused as hell... Hating all of this torment. I'd been trying to take unfair advantage of him, if you looked at it in a certain light, yet Hanzo was the one apologizing. "What the hell you got to be sorry for?"

"For... that night. At your place. With the drinking." He did genuinely seem contrite.

"I was the one pouring the drinks." _And it all went so wrong..._  My heart clenched and twisted. I felt like was going to be sick. I had wanted to break him, and I had.

"Still," Hanzo said, head bowed. "It was not my place. I... misread the situation."

And then, for a moment, my heart soared. And it plummeted again as common sense told me not to get ahead of myself. I swallowed hard. "Misread?"

Hanzo shrugged, a subtle gesture. "I was drunk."

A thin laugh. "Yeah, so was I. Your point?"

There is a long moment, where I'm searching for that faint hope. That false hope. That... maybe true hope. I lick my lips, where the taste of a kiss is long gone, and stare into those almond-shaped eyes, which seem to serenely stare at me like some unholy monk. Zen beyond belief.

"Did... I not?" There is a quaver to his voice, a trepidation that I know all too well. I want to laugh, I want to cry, and I feel like I might do either or both, but for a moment, I'm too overwhelmed to speak.

Hanzo, too, seems overwhelmed. He breaks contact, the gears in his head turning as he tries to think. "I... do not do that at all... usually."

I let out the laugh. It's a mere exhale at first, and then a fragile, nervous thing. I tuck my hat over my eyes, to try and bluff. My lips twitch with a smirk. _Good god. Am I really that stupid?_  To be fair, I had been too busy avoiding Hanzo to notice the signs. To pick up on the cues that I told myself wouldn't be there, or if they were, they were of my own imaginations... I chuckle, a warm rumble from my chest, as my lips stretch wide. "Then I'd be yer first?" I tilted my head back to look at him, a sparkle of mischief glinting in the tears in my eyes, shaded under the safety of my hat.

Hanzo scoffs, pursing his lips and crossing his arms, but their eyes have met again. "I did not say that." Searching eyes. Doubtful, distrusting eyes. Eyes that don't want to be deceived, or to see things they want to see that aren't really there.

I laugh again. _How was I so dumb as to not see this?_  My own self-deprecation and spiteful humour make this strange... "Well, I just wanna be sure. Cos if you only do it when yer drunk..." I lean back in my chair, wanting distance, and I prop my legs up, boots and spurs singing as they drop on the table. "That's not a habit I can regularly afford."

I always have to have some smart ass comment to say. It'll be the death of me one day.

Hanzo looks away, and yes... That's definitely a blush. There is shame there. Self doubt and revulsion and a bit of curiosity and fear and anxious, timid openness. "You would not have to afford it."

 _He's never done this before_. Not to say he didn't have the fancy before, but maybe he's never had the opportunity. He is from Japan, very old-fashioned country. And from money, too... They would expect better from their son, and this sort of thing is a capital crime in some places.

"...For the record... You took almost half a bottle of rum to do that. And I started you off with jet fuel shit, too. I was slipping you 151 instead of the regular rum first couple drinks. Which is damned impressive. You're a tough nut to crack."

He still doesn't look up. "I have a high tolerance. Therefore, I don't tend to drink often."

"Hmm." I make as if to consider that. "Would you... do that kind of thing without the rum?"

There's a widening to his eyes. This has gone from being comedic and laughing off your embarrassment to save face, and to pretend it isn't what it is... to a genuine experiment. He recognises that. He's surprised, and caught off guard.

"Not with just anyone."

...I let that sink in for a moment. It's not just a passing fancy. A bucket list item. Something he's curious about and wanting to try. It makes my heart soar and skip about, to know that it's _not with just anyone_. If this happened, it wouldn't be a simple 'we'll try it and see how it goes'. There would be the weight of more behind it.

It's been a while since I had something that strong to hold on to. My lips go dry, and I lick them again.

I tilt up my hat, laying the cards on the table, calling the bluff. My eyes are anxious and wary, fearful and self-conscious, and it makes my cocky grin look a bit less sure of itself. "Well, let me rephrase. If I kissed you back... would you shoot me?"

There's a long pause, where Hanzo studies my face, those sharp and clever eyes observing every little twitch and squint and stretch and pull, like a hawk hunting for prey. The archer's eyes. The sharpshooter's eyes.

The fearful lover's eyes.

"I... would not consider it," he says finally, still unsure.

My eyes narrowed, trying to read him right back. I smirk, hearing the obvious joke in my head. "The kiss or the shooting?"

_God, I am such an idiot._

...But Hanzo's mouth parts. Teeth clench, and he begins to speak, then hesitates. "Shall you find out?"

 _If that's not an open invitation, I don't know what is_.

I smile. A genuine, kind one, if still a bit anxious and nervous. I pointedly look up to the camera he'd pointed out earlier, and stand. He's watching me, as if I'm a rattlesnake, getting ready to come bite him. It breaks my heart - that fear. I remember feeling it, and I've watched others feel it before. I promise myself I will be gentle with him to begin with. Grow wilder as his passion and experience grows. I wouldn't want to do him the unkindness of too much too soon.

I move around him, and stand before him. I take off my hat, pressing it to my chest, and angle myself for the camera. I put the hat between us and that silent watcher, and this close, yes, I can tell that he's blushing.

And when I lean in for the kiss, I hear that smallest intake of breath before soft lips touch soft lips. He melts for me, and I let him come to me. One hand is on my hat, the other on the back of his chair, but one of his comes to my cheek as he answers me. There is a hunger, and a longing, and the kiss lengthens into something decadent. I sigh into him, and his whole body twitches, and that hand is on my neck again, searching fingers slipping through the soft flesh and curly hair, and I wonder if his hands are visible on the camera, if anyone watching hasn't already guessed what's happening...

I break away first, and he seems confused, but I smile at him. The fear is gone now. Apprehension and wariness is there, but it's the nervousness of new love, not fear of rejection. And the love in my eyes comforts him.

"This ain't the best place for a first time," I whisper. "But long as you promise not to shoot me, maybe we can do this some more."

He nods quickly, and I put my hat back on. I nod to the door. "Come on. Let's get out of here." I eye the camera as we exit, he too looking at the intruder with trepidation.

As we come around the corner, I look into the supervisor's zone. The room is empty, and none of the screens are even on to watch anybody. I look to Hanzo, and he looks just as surprised as I am. He shrugs. I frown, chewing on this, and I tuck my thumbs into my belt loops so I don't reach over and start to mess with this man, tugging on his shirt, his belt, his hair, entangle my fingers with his and cover him with me...

We come to the front counter, and Jack is standing there, arms crossed and an unpleasant line to his mouth. I am wary, not liking the way he's eyeing me. Hanzo, too, looks down in submission before his supervisor.

"You two sort it out?" he growls.

"Uh..." I look to Hanzo. "Yeah. We did." I smirked. "Hell, we're gonna get drinks. Things'll be back to normal."

He grunts. "Good. Be back here Friday, 0600. You too, Hanzo."

"Hai," he answers, nodding.

"Get out of here."

We make it all the way out of the building to the car ports before we start busting out laughing. After which I grab him by the front of his shirt and pin him to a wall to kiss the ever loving shit out of him. Best of all he lets me, and when he starts to claw his fingers into my scalp, I do the same, and the noises he makes are fantastic.

xxx

Predictably, we didn't go to a bar, but to a liquor store, and then my place. I told him to stay in the living room a minute while I cleaned up the laundry everywhere in my room. I made a semblance of the bed, and almost put my tequila away before I remembered I'd already mentioned it, and I was likely getting drunk tonight, so I'd--

 _We'd_. We'd probably need it in the morning. Fuck, it's like putting condoms in your wallet, just doing that is invigorating.

This time, Hanzo is sitting on the edge of his seat in the couch, and looks up to me with his hands clasped, and the silliest smile on his face. It makes my heart flip, and I just want to kiss him again.

This time, I tell him. "You keep making that stupid face, I'm gonna kiss it right off ya."

He has a coy, mischievous little smirk. The squint to his eyes is also really appealing. "Threat, or promise?"

I stalk over to him, leaning over him with a low growl... "Depends."

I was going to tease him, but he reached right up for me with a feral hunger I wasn't expecting. Not to say it wasn't fucking _hot_  though. I knelt in, a knee on the couch, and when he twisted his hands into my hair again and pulled, I hissed, and he stopped.

"Am I too much?" he asked, his dark grey eyes like thunderstorms, raging and full of the lust I shared...

I let out a quiet laugh. "Mm... No, you're fine. Ever heard of a safe word?"

"Heheh... Yes. Mine is... Gojira. Or as you say, Godzilla!" His brilliant smile and bright, big eyes are too much.

I can't help but laugh, and for a moment, he breaks me. It feels good to rest my head on his shoulder, and when I touch a hand to his neck, he nuzzles into my caressing thumb. "...Your safe word is Godzilla. I think I can remember that."

I rise over him again, and cup both hands around his neck. His hands cling to my forearms, and his eyes close, a soft and contented smile on his lips. "Yes. Is very silly. And hard to forget." His eyes open. "And you?"

I bite my lip. And my eyes sadden. "Gabriel. Ruins me every time."

His eyes sadden, too. I wonder who told him, and how much. "I think I can remember."

His fingers slide up and down my skin, and I relax over him. I press a kiss to his forehead. "...I've wanted you for a long time."

He chuckles. "I can not believe you. You always flirt with women... I did not believe."

"Oh, I swing _both_  ways, darlin'." I gave a wink. "Not both at once, but..." I shrugged. "I want who I want. But... Know this." I slip my fingers through his hair, and he looks to me with an open soul. "If I have you... You're mine. And I'm yours." I shook my head. "Ain't no one else. I promise."

I swear I see tears in his eyes. He nods. "I am happy. You teach me. I make you happy."

I'm sure there are tears in mine.

When we kiss, it's long and sweet, tender and full of promise. By the time we move horizontally (and he surprises me by lying _me_  down), and I begin to touch him, he is already rock hard, and I know he's true. I use my hands, and then I use my mouth, and the way he claws for me is amazing... Even in things like these, he is not a man of many words, but he speaks in a language I know. He surprises himself, and when I kiss him after, he stares at me in wonder.

"...What?" I'm self-conscious now.

He shakes his head. "I've never..."

I frown. "Ever?"

He shakes his head, eyes wide. "I never married. I mean... I was betrothed once. She was good girl, but I didn't... We never..."

I laugh. " _Ever?_   Han, baby..." I stroke a thumb over his jaw. "I'm your _first_   first? Ever ever ever?"

He shudders. "H-Hai. Erm, yes."

I shake my head. "...Fuck. Yes." I give him another hungry kiss, and he's blushing again.

"This is okay?"

"Very okay." I tease my lips to his, and he reaches for them, but I pull away. I growl. "I'm gonna break you, boy..."

He shivers, but nods emphatically. "Hai."

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a reference to Japan, the Land of the Rising Sun, and a sherrif's star, because I could only do so much with "Land of Enchantment" that didn't come out all glitter and unicorns, but cowboy is a god aesthetic.


End file.
